


Pitch Black

by shushu_yaoi_lj



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: A lot of kissing, Alternate Universe - Office, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Crack, Fluff, Goats, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Smut, a carnivorous plant, a stuffed goat, an angry bear - Freeform, an exploding moka pot, coffee shop AU, impossible interviews, thrown in a bit of dirty talk, too many goats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27191437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shushu_yaoi_lj/pseuds/shushu_yaoi_lj
Summary: “Look at him, Penny.”“I’m trying to read my book, Simon.”“He’s plotting,” I say with a serious tone, “why would a posh twat like him have breakfast every morning at the Stinky Goat?”“I’m still wondering why we do, to be honest with you.”
Relationships: Dev/Niall (Simon Snow), Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 89
Kudos: 207
Collections: Carry On Fall Exchange 2020





	1. Simon Snow and the stuffed goat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peachpit_gabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachpit_gabe/gifts).



> This fic is a gift for [ peachpit_gabe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachpit_gabe/pseuds/peachpit_gabe) as part of the Carry On Exchange. I really hope that you like it, Gabe! I did my best with the Coffee Shop AU prompt, sorry if it got a bit out of hand.
> 
> Huge thanks to [ Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire/pseuds/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire) and [ commeunoasis ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/commeunoasis/pseuds/commeunoasis) for their amazing support and encouragement with this fic. You are truly fantastic! 💙  
> An additional thank you to [ imhellakitty ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imhellakitty/) for giving me the best idea on how to start this mad fic.  
> I'm going to post a chapter a day, enjoy!

**Simon**

“Look at him, Penny.”

“I’m trying to read my book, Simon.”

“He’s plotting,” I say with a serious tone, “why would a posh twat like him have breakfast every morning at the Stinky Goat?”

“I’m still wondering why _we_ do, to be honest with you.” Penny shakes her head, eyes still glued to her massive book. It’s called ‘ _Teaching Science in the Secondary School_ ’ and there are happy children smiling on the cover. Penny’s drawn devil horns and tails on all of them. One’s even got a snake’s tongue sticking out of his mouth.

“Penny, we owe our loyalty to Ebb,” I declare. Ebb was so lovely to me, giving me food for free when I was completely broke during my last year at university. “I promised to myself and to her that I would buy breakfast here every morning once I got a proper job.”

“I know,” says Penny, sipping her cappuccino, “but why do I have to come too? This place is creepy!”

The décor definitely needs a bit of revamping. The walls are covered in flowery wallpaper and pictures of goats, some wearing hats and funky clothes, others with snowy mountains in the background. There’s even one drinking a steaming cup of tea.

And that’s what I find suspicious. Why would a guy like him, always wearing expensive suits and checking his iPhone (latest model, which probably costs more of all my personal possessions combined) have breakfast here? There’s a Caffè Nero just around the corner that serves fancy coffee and Starbucks is in the town centre, where he’s headed every morning (not that I’ve followed him to find out) (well, maybe I have).

He moves to look inside his leather bag and casts me a glance, his grey eyes meeting mine for just a few seconds. He smirks and then turns, pretending to read the paper.

“Who is he trying to kid?” I ask, outraged, “no one reads the papers anymore. He’s clearly faking it.”

“My parents read The Times and The Guardian every morning,” Penny says.

“Your parents are old, Penny. He’s a young and fit twenty-something bloke, with football calves and an amazing arse.”

Penny stares at me with raised eyebrows.

“What?” I ask, “you’ve seen him last Saturday, when he was wearing those snug jeans.”

She shakes her head and starts packing her stuff, ready to go to school.

“Wish me luck,” she says, “today’s my first day in my new placement. I really hope they won’t eat me alive.”

“Penny, I’m honestly more worried for the kids.”

She hits the back of my head with ‘ _Physics can be fun_ ’ (I have my doubts) and glares at me while she puts her coat on.

“Best of luck!” I shout at her as she leaves and she waves at me.

“Good luck, love!” says Ebb from behind the counter, a smile on her wrinkled face.

The dark-haired stranger stares at me and I glare back.

“What?” I ask.

“You’re always so loud,” he replies, tucking a loose lock behind his ear with an elegant gesture. I tug at my curls and frown.

“You can always find another place to have breakfast,” I suggest.

“Simmer down, boys,” says Ebb, flicking through the pages of her magazine.

He sneers at me and goes back to his paper. Tosser. 

**Baz**

He’s so infuriatingly beautiful. All golden freckled skin, a sprinkle of moles here and there and those bronze curls that make my fingers itch, wanting to touch him all over.

I sigh as I sip on my very average Frappuccino. I’m even having breakfast every morning in this godforsaken hole just to see him. The owner smiles at me from behind the counter. She’s lovely, but her obsession with goats is frankly terrifying.

My blue-eyed crush stands up and goes to the counter to pay, trying to look subtle as he casts glances in my direction and failing miserably. He bites on his lower lip as he gets some cash out of his wallet. I would kill to kiss that stupid mouth of his.

“Bye Ebb, see you tomorrow!” he says on his way out.

“Bye, Simon!”

So that’s his name, finally! I just need to find his surname and then I can do a thorough online search (although he doesn’t really look like the type of person who uses social media).

I gather my things and stand up to go and pay. Ebb winks at me.

“I can arrange a date for you, if you want,” she says.

“I beg your pardon?” I ask, petrified.

“He’s free at the moment. He recently broke up with his girlfriend and he seems interested in you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I blurt out, “good day to you, ma’am!”

I basically run out of the café and I stop in my tracks as I shut the door behind my back. He’s still here, hiding behind a tree on the other side of the road. Is he planning on following me again? I gloat as I pretend not to see him and make my way to the office. Watford town centre is just a ten-minute walk from Ebb’s café, but I take my time, going the long way, trying to catch a glimpse of him as he chases me.

When I get to the massive building that hosts my company and several others (we rent a whole floor), I pretend to look inside my bag to find my phone and then I spot him just around the corner. He’s trying to peek to find out where I work. I smile as I open the door.

I have him in my thrall.

And, apparently, he’s single and could be interested in men. This is going to be a brilliant week.

**Simon**

Shep’s already behind the counter when I come in.

“You’re late,” he says, shaking his head, “were you following the mysterious vampire again?”

“You joke,” I say, taking my coat off, “but he’s really pale; he has an impressive widow’s peak and his canines look super sharp.”

“Just face the truth, bro. You fancy him.”

I feel my cheeks colouring and I try to look outraged, pinning my nametag to my T-shirt and trying not to stab myself with it (which happens every other morning).

“Shep, I am not gay.”

“So you keep on saying and yet…”

I don’t have time to reply, because the first customer of the day comes in.

“Welcome to Possibelf Electrics. What can we do for you, sir?” Shep asks cheerfully.

**Baz**

I’m running late this morning. I forgot to put my phone on charge and the battery died overnight, so my alarm didn’t ring. Of course, my aunt could have woken me up, since we’re headed for the office at the same time every fucking morning and my daily routine is like a Swiss clock, but she’s annoying and decided to let me “be an adult and face the consequences of my actions.” Evil witch.

I skip my morning shower, just brush my teeth, wash my face and comb my hair. I get dressed in a rush and then head out.

I might be late, but I refuse to skip breakfast with Simon.

Today we have interviews at Pitch Black for that new position, since Gareth left to work with the competition at Mage’s (may he burn in hell). I grab the folder with the information on the applicants and then head out, running down the stairs and then making my way through the morning crowd.

When I get to Ebb’s café, I open the door and then I freeze.

“What the fuck is that?” I ask.

**Simon**

“I’m late,” I whine, “it’s the day of the interview and I’m bloody late. Penny, where’s my tie?”

“How should I know?” she asks from her room.

“It took me half an hour to iron this shirt and it still looks a mess!” I complain, looking at myself in the small mirror inside my wardrobe.

“Did you watch that YouTube tutorial I sent you the other day?” Penny asks, peeking inside my bedroom.

“Yes, but it made no difference. As soon as I ironed the sleeves, the front got wrinkled and then the collar did. It was hell!”

She shakes her head and comes in, fishing the tie from under my desk.

“You’re going to be fine,” she says, handing it to me, “remember to breathe and to answer the practice questions like you did at home.”

I nod, my fingers shaking as I do a knot, my hands not used to it anymore (the last time I wore a tie was in secondary school).

“Do I have enough time to have breakfast at Ebb’s?” I ask, putting my grey jacket on. Shep helped me choose this suit, even though he feels sorry about me wanting to change jobs. I have a degree in engineering and this new position at Pitch Black would give me a chance to actually use it.

“Simon, don’t be late for your interview just because you want to have breakfast at the Stinky Goat!” Penny scolds me.

“Penny, a promise’s a promise. I’ll just grab something to drink on the go,” I reply and then put my coat on.

“Good luck!” she shouts at me as I run down the stairs.

As I try to avoid running into commuters, I suddenly realise that I forgot to comb my hair. Shit. Well, at least I brushed my teeth.

I open the door to Ebb’s café and I literally walk into him. He stumbles and falls on the floor and I land on top of him, putting my hands forward to break my fall and ending up grabbing his arse instead.

“What the actual fuck!” he protests, moving away and staring at me, “oh, it’s you.”

I think I’m blushing as I stare at him, then at my hands, then at his backside and then at him again. He makes an odd sound at the back of his throat.

“What were you doing,” I ask, moving my hands and massaging my sore knee, trying to find a purpose for my fingers, “standing in front of the door?” 

His grey eyes lock with mine and I can definitely see his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink. I swallow.

“You grabbed my arse,” he says, in a tone that was probably supposed to sound accusatory, but just ends up feeling sheepish.

“It was an accident! I was trying not to smash my face onto the floor,” I explain.

“So you decided to use my backside as a cushion. That’s precious.”

“Listen, mate, it’s all your fault,” I say, trying to reason and then failing, remembering how firm, yet soft his arse-cheeks were under my fingers.

“If it’s anyone’s fault, then it’s Ebb’s!” he declares and then points at something in the middle of the café, right in front of him.

It’s a stuffed goat.

Not a soft toy. A fucking terrifying stuffed goat, with fake beady eyes that stare into your soul.

It’s just standing there, its white fur patchy and coarse. The horns are really long and curl to one side and the wretched thing has a massive pink bow around its neck.

“What is that?” I ask, my voice higher than normal.

“Hello boys!” Ebb says, appearing from the kitchen, “have you met little Miss Chimera? She’s our new addition.”

Baz whimpers and I groan, unable to answer with human sounds. Words, they are called words. The goat stares at me and I feel cold sweat on my back.

“She used to belong to a friend of mine,” Ebb explains, “but unfortunately she died of old age, so my friend decided to preserve her, because she couldn’t part with her companion. My friend moved house and I decided to take Miss Chimera into my care.”

We both stand up and move towards the counter, carefully avoiding the goat.

“Shit, I’m so late!” Mr Bouncy Arse says and I realise I’m really late too.

“Ebb, could I please have the usual to go?” I ask.

“Me too,” he asks and she smiles and starts preparing our drinks, whistling out of tune.

We nervously stand there, not knowing what to say.

“I hope you’re happy,” I mutter, “I’m late for an important meeting.”

“I can see that you’re finally looking decent. What’s the occasion?” he asks, sneering and pointing at my suit.

“None of your business,” I reply.

“There you go!” says Ebb, “now off you pop, boys. You can pay me tomorrow.”

I grab my cup and thank her, rushing out. I’m going to take the shortcut to the town centre, no time for the long route that the wanker takes every morning.

I sip on my cup and then spit it all out.

“What the fuck, this is disgustingly sweet!” I shout. It’s like a mixture of coffee, pumpkin, a hint of spices and pure sugar. Absolutely revolting. I check the side of the cup and it says ‘Baz’ in Ebb’s messy handwriting.

I grabbed his drink by accident.

He’s called Baz.

And he likes really sweet stuff.

**Baz**

I hurry to the office and hold the warm cup in my hands. It’s a cold October morning and the weather is definitely feeling autumnal.

I decide to take a sip of my drink to warm up and I nearly spit it all out.

“What the hell,” I mutter and then realise that the cup says “Simon :-)” on the side (she never adds a smiley face next to my name; that’s unfair).

Who on earth goes to a coffee shop to buy a simple Earl Grey with just a drop of milk? He doesn’t even take it with sugar!

I suppose I’ll have to make myself something once I get to work. The perks of working at a company that sells coffee machines is that we have a fully functional kitchen with all the latest gadgets.

I open the front door and take the lift, no time for the stairs today.

My aunt is already waiting for me behind her desk, pretending to work and checking on her phone instead.

“You could have at least woken me up,” I say in an accusatory tone.

“You made it on time, Basil, no need to get your knickers in a twist.”

I decide that ignoring her is probably the best solution to all my problems and I go to my office, closing the door behind me.

We have interviews all day and I barely managed to see him this morning, even though he squeezed my arse like he really meant it. I wonder if that’s a sign.

“Basil! The candidates are ready to start!” Fiona calls from outside.

“Get them started then!”

**Simon**

**Shep (9:10)** : How R U doing, bro?

**Simon (9:11)** : Bricking it. They’re making us wait.

**Shep (9:13)** : U can do it! 👍 💪

**Simon (9:13)** : Mystery vampire bloke is called Baz. I touched his arse this morning.

**Shep (9:15)** : #goals

The door suddenly opens and I nearly drop my phone.

“Good morning and welcome to Pitch Black,” a bossy woman says, looking at us and raising an eyebrow as she seems to decide we’re not worthy to be here. “I’m Fiona Pitch and I am going to supervise your interviews today.”

This woman is scary as fuck. She has long black hair with a white streak at the front that she’s tucked behind her ear, a clipboard in her hand, red nails looking like they have been bitten quite badly.

“You will do your maths test first, then the group activities for the rest of the morning,” she explains, “whilst you have your lunch, we will decide who can stay for the formal interviews with the board, which will take place in the afternoon.”

There are nine other candidates, all looking quite nervous, except for one who just looks like a wanker. Miss Pitch makes us all sit down in a big conference room, a few seats apart from each other, and then she tells us to wait for a few minutes and leaves. I can see her from the glass door sipping some coffee and looking at her phone.

“What are they waiting for?” a ginger girl whispers next to me.

“I don’t know,” I reply nervously.

“I think we’re supposed to meet Mr Grimm before the interview starts. Maybe he’s late,” says an elderly bloke with a comb-over.

“Mr Grimm is in Japan right now, didn’t you know?” asks the wanker with an air of superiority, “it’s going to be his son conducting the interviews. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch.”

“What kind of name is that?” I ask, because it’s the poshest and most ridiculous name I’ve ever heard in my life. Only the son of one of the richest CEOs in Watford could be called like that. I bet he looks like a horse.

The door suddenly opens and we’re all quiet. I turn and freeze.

He’s here.

In his smart dark green suit, perfectly polished shoes, dark wavy hair falling around his beautiful face, silver eyes locking with mine and opening wide in surprise.

Baz.

And it hits me.

Baz. Basilton.

Oh fuck!


	2. Simon Snow and the angry bear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A memorable job interview, improper use of Mars bars, Italian swearing and an angry bear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of love and thanks to my wonderful betas [ Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire/pseuds/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire) and [ commeunoasis ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/commeunoasis/pseuds/commeunoasis) 💙

**Baz**

He’s here for the interviews.

I can’t believe my luck!

I snatch Fiona’s clipboard from her hand and quickly find the list of applicants. There it is: Simon Snow.

I look at him and try my best not to smile.

This is going to be an interesting day.

“Are you done, Basil?” my aunt asks, looking annoyed and taking the clipboard back.

I clear my voice and remember why I’m here (and unfortunately, it’s not to find out more about my secret crush).

“Good morning and welcome to Pitch Black,” I start my well-rehearsed spiel, “as I’m sure you already know, our company has been at the forefront of the industry of coffee machines. We are hoping that one of you is going to be the team member who is going to help us achieve even greater results in the future.”

He stares at me with his mouth open (mouth breather) and I suddenly remember that this morning he touched my arse.

If I play this well, it might be me touching his next.

**Simon**

Well, he doesn’t look like a horse, but he sounds like a posh bastard. But that’s no surprise, really.

He leaves us in the apparently competent (but definitely terrifying) hands of his aunt and then casts a glance at me and makes an exit.

I was not expecting to find him here. And to find out that he’s the CEO’s son and the one conducting the interviews is not what I was counting on. I feel like my chances of getting this job are getting slimmer by the minute.

What would Penny say? Probably something like: “don’t you dare to give up, Simon! Or you’ll do all the washing up for a week.”

Okay. I can do this. Maths test is first and I’m good at maths.

I’m not going to let him spook me out and I most definitely am not going to be an arse-licker. He knows I can’t stand him. We’ve argued enough times at the Stinky Goat for me to change my approach to him and I know that, deep down, he loves the way we bicker (otherwise why on earth would he have breakfast at Ebb’s every single morning, when it’s mostly just me there?). I’m still going to treat him like usual. That’s the plan.

**Baz**

I walk by the conference room, peeking through the glass door with a ninja move and see him scribbling with a look of intense concentration on his freckled face. He’s chewing on his pencil (how barbaric and sexy at the same time), tapping with his fingers on his legs.

He suddenly raises his eyes and sees me. I lift an eyebrow and he licks his lips (he licks his fucking lips; does he have any idea the effect that has on people?) and then looks me straight in the eyes and mouths something that suspiciously looks like “knob”.

Tosser.

Two can play this game, Simon Snow.

I crack my knuckles and plan my next move.

**Simon**

Maths done, now the group activities.

Baz reappears as Fiona Pitch is getting us sorted into two groups. I end up with the man with a comb-over, the ginger girl, the wanker and Marco, a middle-aged bloke with a very strong Italian accent.

“I’ll monitor that team,” Baz says to his aunt, pointing at us.

But of course. Just in case I had any doubts whether I sill had a chance to get this job.

“Do you think that’s a good sign?” Ginger whispers to me.

“I have no clue,” I say, shifting nervously on my chair.

“He has probably spotted my potential,” the Wanker claims and I roll my eyes.

“Cretino,” Marco mutters under his breath. We all hear him and I can take an educated guess and assume that was not a compliment.

We soon find out that our first assignment is to decide who we are going to save from a group of 10 people who survived a shipwreck and got stranded on a desert island. There’s only one ship and it can only carry 4 adults.

“I reckon the doctor should be saved, he’s socially useful,” Ginger says timidly.

“But he could stay on the island and look after the other people, while they wait to be rescued,” I argue.

“The sick child and the elderly lady can stay on the island. But the CEO of the important company should definitely be saved,” the Wanker says, beaming at Baz.

“Wait a second,” I say, “I reckon we could fit both the child and the frail lady and they would count for one person. They weigh less.”

“There’s no point. They’re going to die soon anyway,” the Wanker glares at me and I start seeing red.

“Stop being a dickhead just to impress him,” I say, pointing at Baz, who looks like he’s having the time of his life, scribbling on his notepad with a wicked smile on his face.

“How dare you?” the Wanker says, outraged.

“Oh, will you shut up,” Marco mutters to him, “idiota.”

We argue for twenty more minutes. Marco swears some more (or at least I assume); the Wanker looks like he’s about to explode and Ginger ends up in tears.

This interview is not going as planned.

**Baz**

This is the best interview ever.

For the second task, we ask them to build a bridge using only Mars bars. The team that completes it first wins, but we’re looking at team building skills and cooperation, not just at who’s fastest.

Snow and the Italian guy are on fire, leading the rest of their useless group to put the bars in a specific order and then shouting and swearing when it collapses for the third time.

“You’re useless,” whines the wanker in their team, “who put you in charge? Simon should sit in a corner and I ought to take control.”

“Shut the fuck up, coglione!”

“Ok, we’re going to have to up our game,” Snow says ignoring them, “we need some kind of glue to hold the pieces together.”

He then proceeds to shove a whole Mars bar into his mouth, then chews it and spits it out to use it as glue. I should be horrified, but I want to shove him against a wall and kiss him senseless instead.

Snow’s team finishes first and they cheer loudly, jumping around and hugging each other.

“Who the fuck are those numpties in your team?” Fiona asks at the end, “they were savages!”

“I know. It was the most entertaining interview we’ve ever had!”

**Simon**

We chat a bit over lunch and I exchange numbers with a few of the others. We’re all assuming that we won’t make it to the afternoon, due to the colossal cock-up we did this morning.

To my surprise, when Miss Pitch arrives with her clipboard, she actually says my name.

I have a formal interview with the board.

How?

Marco doesn’t make it, so we pat each other’s back and promise to have a pint at the pub on Friday.

The Wanker goes first and I sit down waiting for my turn, tugging on my curls, my leg bouncing up and down. I can’t fuck up. I need this job.

I can do it. I just need to answer the questions and not panic.

“Mr Snow?” an elderly lady smiles at me and takes me to a small room.

I walk in, sweating like mad in my jacket (I wonder if I can take it off). Baz and his aunt are sitting next to each other and there’s a lonely chair opposite them. I take a seat and swallow loudly.

“Mr Snow,” Miss Pitch starts, “we are going to ask you a few questions and we will then make our decision based on how the whole day went. We should be able to let you know tomorrow morning if we deem you suitable for this position.”

I nod and feel my mouth getting so dry that I might not even be able to open it.

She starts by asking me questions about how I think the morning went (total shit), about my education, what I think I can bring to the company and where I see myself in five years (hopefully working for them). I feel so nervous that my fingers are shaking under the table, but I’ve rehearsed these answers with Penny and hopefully I’m doing okay.

“Okay, my turn,” Baz says, looking at his notes and then folding his elegant hands under his chin, “if you could be an animal, which one would you be?”

I stare at him for a few seconds and then remember that Penny told me that sometimes interview questions can be a bit odd.

“A dragon,” I say the first thing that comes to my mind and he raises an eyebrow at me.

“Why a dragon?” he asks.

“Because they can fly and spit fire,” I shrug, “they’re cool.”

Miss Pitch mutters something like “not even a real animal” under her breath and I start panicking, but I don’t even have the time to, because the next question comes along.

“Snow,” no ‘mister’ this time, “what would you do if you were walking in the woods with your friend and you were attacked by an angry bear? Would you run?”

“Well,” I start, scratching the back of my head, “I’ve actually read somewhere that if you run, bears attack you and you should lie still and pretend to be dead instead. So, I guess that’s what I would do.”

Silence.

“What about your friend?” Miss Pitch asks.

“Oh, Penny can look after herself. I would honestly be more concerned for the bear’s sake.”

They both raise their brows at me (did they plan this move?).

“There are no bears in the UK, right?” I ask, feeling my hands getting sweaty.

“Next question,” Baz says, reading his notes, “what’s your ideal partner?”

Miss Pitch looks confused and tries to peek at his notes, but he shuts the notepad and looks at me with interest.

“Err…” what has this got to do with the job? “I don’t know. I like a person who can challenge me, I guess. Keep me on my toes.”

“Any preference for males or females?” he asks all serious, without giving me a chance to even breathe.

“Basil, I’m pretty sure that’s illegal. You can’t ask him that!” his aunt elbows him.

“Next question then. How do you get an elephant in a fridge?”

“I have no clue,” I answer, “maybe ask him nicely?”

“Who would win in a fight. Superman or Batman?” he asks, relentless.

“Superman, because he has superpowers, I guess.”

“Do you wear jeans outside of work?” his grey eyes are fixed on mine.

“I normally wear jeans when I go to work…”

“Do you like to sing in the bath?”

“I don’t take baths; I only have a shower. And yes, I do sing, but my flatmate Penny says that I sound like a cat in agony.”

“Tea or coffee?”

“Tea, I hate coffee.” I realise too late that this was a daft answer, since I’m trying to get a job at Pitch fuckling Black. His aunt glares at me.

“If you had three minutes alone in a lift with the CEO’s son, what would you say?”

“You’re a posh twat and your snug jeans should be illegal,” I reply without thinking and then, to my surprise, his lips curl up in a smile and his cheeks turn the loveliest shade of pink. I feel my face burning and I look down. There’s a glass of water on the table; I take it and drink the whole thing in one go.

“Well, that was…intense,” Fiona Pitch says, eyeing her nephew like she’s planning on giving him a bollocking later.

“The job’s yours, if you want it,” Baz says and we both stare at him, eyes open wide.

“Baz, what the-“ his aunt tries to stop him, but he shakes his head and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

“The decision is up to me and I want you,” he clears his voice, “on my team. I want you on my team.”

I find myself nodding. I want him too. I mean, I want him on my team. I want to be on his team. Whatever. I keep on nodding.

“You can start on Monday morning,” he says with a triumphant smile on his face.

“I have to give my employer three months’ notice,” I explain, “I can’t start on Monday.”

He frowns and then checks his notes.

“You work for Possibelf Electrics, don’t you?” he asks.

“Yes, it’s a small company that sells electrical supplies.”

“No worries, I’ll give them a call and get everything sorted,” he says like he’s got all the power in the world and then he holds his hand out to me.

I stare at it for a few seconds and then I take it. It’s cool and soft, his grip firm.

“Welcome to Pitch Black, Simon Snow.”

**Baz**

“What the hell, Baz!” Fiona has been shouting at me for the past ten minutes, “you can’t just give that moron a job because you fancy him!”

“First of all, I don’t fancy him.”

I’m in love with him. That’s a big difference.

Fiona scoffs and tells me not to insult her intelligence.

“He has shown great problem-solving skills; he was compassionate and yet logical in the shipwreck task; he has a good CV and he answered all of our questions in a very satisfactory way. I think he would be an asset for the team.”

She still glares at me and punches me on the shoulder.

“Ouch, what was that for?” I complain.

“You’re in charge of him and you’ll be the one doing his training,” she says (as if I wanted her to be in charge of Snow), “and you’d better not end up shagging him at the office. Nor at home.”

Where on earth am I supposed to shag?

**Simon**

**Simon (14:20)** : Mate, I got the job!

 **Shep (14:30)** : I know! Well done, bro!

 **Simon (14:31)** : I’ll miss you 😢

 **Shep (14:40)** : Me 2, bro. Miss Possibelf was super annoyed. She got a call from Mr Pitch and he offered to pay your salary for 3 months.

What?! When he said he would ‘deal with it’, I thought he meant he would convince her, not that he would pay my way out.

I don’t even think I did that well in the interview.

I need to talk to Penny and Shep about this.

**Simon (14:31)** : Breakfast at the Stinky Goat tomorrow at 8?

**Baz**

I open the door, checking that there are no more creepy stuffed goats waiting for me behind it and then realise that Snow and his little gang are already here. They all lift their heads and stare at me; Snow stands up and the chair falls down, making Ebb jump.

“No need to stand up, Snow. I’m not the Queen.”

They look like the Golden Trio, whispering with their heads down. Harry Potter with his American Weasley and purple-haired Granger - does that make me Draco Malfoy?

I sit down and order a cappuccino and an almond croissant. It’s Saturday morning and I have all the time in the world to have breakfast in peace and ~~quiet~~ Snow-related-noises.

“You could ask him, you know,” the girl says.

“Penny, don’t be ridiculous!”

“Okay, I’ll do it then,” she stands up and ignores Snow’s outraged whimpering. She walks to my table and sits down next to me, holding out her chubby hand.

“Penelope Bunce,” she says, all business-like.

“Basilton Grimm-Pitch,” I shake her hand and her grip is strong. She stares at me straight in the eyes and then finally lets go.

“My friend Simon was wondering if you employed him just because you took pity on him,” she says and I see Simon and his American friend desperately trying to listen to our conversation.

“Pity?” I ask, confused, and she shrugs.

“You probably read his file. He grew up in a children’s home and didn’t go to the best kind of schools,” she explains and I open my mouth wide, because this kind of information was not on his file.

“I honestly had no idea and, besides, I’m appalled that you would think I employed him out of pity,” I reply. “I told him that I want him on my team and I meant it. He has great potential and he did well in his interview.”

She looks at me with piercing eyes through her thick glasses.

“Is that all?” she asks.

I swallow.

“Yes.”

“No ulterior motives?”

“What if I had some?” I ask defiantly.

“If you break his heart, I’ll break your flamingo legs,” she says and I honestly believe her. I nod and she shakes my hand again and then leaves.

Scary.

**Simon**

Penny said that he genuinely chose me for my potential. I have my doubts, but I still wear my grey suit and head for Pitch Black on Monday morning.

I’m too nervous to go to Ebb’s (he was there on Saturday and Sunday and would not stop staring at me); I decide that I’ll go during my lunch break instead.

I climb the stairs and I’m told to wait for him at the reception desk. He arrives and he looks like a model from a fashion magazine, with his navy suit and pale blue shirt. He takes my breath away with a simple smile that is gone by the time I blink.

“Snow,” he says, motioning to follow him.

“Baz,” I reply and then I wonder if I’m supposed to call him ‘Mr Pitch’ and decide against it. He doesn’t say anything, so I assume it’s fine.

“This is my secretary, Mildred,” he nods towards a lady who looks at least ninety years old, “she will help you fill out the initial paperwork and then I will take you on a tour of the office and introduce you to the team.”

“Okay.”

“Why were you not at Ebb’s this morning?” he asks, avoiding my eyes.

“I-I was running late,” I lie, blushing.

He looks at me with a curious expression on his beautiful face and then nods.

I guess I’ll try to get there early tomorrow.

I spend a good ten minutes chatting with Mildred, who tells me all about her grandchildren and keeps on offering me shortbread.

“Eat up, duck,” she says in her thick Yorkshire accent, “you’re too skinny.”

Baz tells me where I can find all the important documents and he shows me around. He takes me to what he refers to as a “kitchenette” and turns out to be a fully functional kitchen with all the latest gadgets and the most impressive coffee machine I’ve ever seen.

“Wait a minute,” I say, “why on earth do you come every morning to the Stinky Goat, when you have this bad boy here, that could make you a much better coffee and even one of your fancy sugary drinks?”

He turns and I can see his cheeks colouring.

“I like goats,” he says and I know it’s a lie.

I smile and elbow him.

“Sure.”

**Baz**

On Tuesday he’s still wearing his grey suit, with a white shirt that looks really cheap, but somehow ends up making him look stunning.

I leave him with Dev to discuss our new projects and I find them fifteen minutes later bickering and insulting each other.

Day two and he has already managed to get on Dev’s nerves; this is going to be fun.

**Simon**

On Wednesday I have to spend the morning with this guy called Niall, who is still annoying, but at least he’s much more tolerable than Dev.

I see Baz’s cousin glaring at me from next door and I put my middle finger up at him.

“What are you doing?” Niall asks.

“Telling Dev to fuck off,” I reply, “that bloke is so infuriating. I bet he got this job only because he’s Baz’s cousin. Nepotism, if you ask me.”

Niall glares at me, his brows furrowed.

“Dev’s my boyfriend,” he says with a chilling tone.

Shit.

“Well…” I try to think of something nice to say, “at least he’s got a nice arse.”

Niall’s frown deepens and I feel like he’s trying to incinerate me with his eyes.

“But not as nice as Baz’s,” I mumble, “have you seen him in jeans? He could seriously compete in Watford’s best arse competition.”

Niall’s eyebrows suddenly go so far up his forehead that I worry he might sprain them (is that a thing?) and I feel like I’m digging my own grave, so I try to talk about something else.

“Anyway, do you know if it’s going to rain later?”

**Baz**

He told Niall that I have a nice arse.

God.

He will be the death of me.

By Wednesday I already want to lure him into my office and kiss him senseless, but I want him to settle down and feel welcome, before I make my move.

I want him to stay.

Even if he’s still wearing that bloody grey suit.

**Simon**

On Thursday Baz sits with Penny and me at breakfast. Just out of the blue.

He takes a chair and says good morning, then asks Ebb for his usual ridiculous drink and asks us how we are doing, like that’s what we always do.

He asks Penny about her school placement and tells her that his mum was a teacher (Niall told me that she died in a hit and run when Baz was five).

I’m quiet for the first few minutes, but then I start chatting with them and it all feels too natural, too good to be true.

What is going on?

**Baz**

On Friday we allow our employees to wear whatever they want to the office (Dev obviously came in a onesie the first time, so we had to add “as long as it’s appropriate” to the code of conduct).

Snow appears in an orange hoodie and a pair of worn-out jeans. He looks soft and warm. It’s a cold autumn day and I just want to hide under a blanket in front of the fire with him on my side.

“You’re wearing a suit,” he says to me as a greeting, “with a waistcoat.”

“So?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Why are you not wearing jeans?” he asks, looking disappointed.

“Why are you always wearing the same suit?” I retort. He flinches.

“Because I only have one,” he replies sheepishly and I stare at him. I fold my arms in front of my chest and tilt my head.

“I’m taking you shopping tomorrow,” I declare, not giving him a chance to reply, “9 o’clock sharp at Ebb’s. Don’t be late.”

I’ve done it.

It’s a date.

**Simon**

Wait, is it a date? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you all think I made up all the interview stuff, but some of it is actually based on personal experience (including the bear question and the answer…I didn’t get that job). The Mars bars task is a real thing too, same for the shipwreck (I didn’t get that job either…).


	3. Simon Snow and the exploding moka pot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is this a date? Changing room shenanigans, fancy brollies, bat caves, a sprinkle of jealousy and an exploding moka pot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to my wonderful betas [ Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire/pseuds/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire) and [ commeunoasis ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/commeunoasis/pseuds/commeunoasis) 💙

**Simon**

He opens the door to the café, the wind ruffling his hair and making him look even more gorgeous. How does he manage to look like a model when he’s wearing a simple pair of jeans and a dark coat?

“Snow,” he says, tucking a wayward lock behind his ear, his fingers pale in the warm light of the café. It’s raining outside and I didn’t bring an umbrella. Penny reminded me, but I still didn’t take it. I kind of knew that he would have one (it looks expensive, like the rest of him).

“Baz,” I nod and move the chair next to mine with my foot. He takes his coat off and my eyes land on his jumper. It’s dark blue, with a white pattern around the neck and it makes his stormy eyes stand out even more.

I swallow and catch him staring at my neck.

“Have you had breakfast?” he asks, licking his lips.

“No, I was waiting for you,” I reply.

Is this a date?

I’m dying to ask him. When I told Penny that Baz was taking me shopping for clothes, she simply raised her eyebrows and said: “is he now?”

Shep’s reaction was asking me if I still think I’m not gay. I’m starting to have my doubts too.

“Would you like the usual?” Baz asks and I stare at him. Does he know what I normally have for breakfast? I nod, waiting for him to come back with some random drinks and food, but he returns after a few minutes with a cup of Earl Grey (milk, no sugar) and a warm scone with butter.

I mutter a thank you and start eating, my eyes on the table.

Is this a date?

**Baz**

Is he okay?

He blushed when I handed him his breakfast. Maybe he felt compelled to come with me this morning because I’m his employer. But he’s told me to fuck off numerous times this week. He could have done the same yesterday when I told him I would take him shopping for new clothes.

Shall I call it a day and leave him alone?

“So, this suit…” he starts saying, crumbs falling from his open mouth.

“Honestly, Snow,” I say, “could you at least not eat like a caveman?”

He elbows me and drinks some of his tea. He feels so warm next to me, with his shabby hoodie and torn jeans.

“As I was saying,” he continues, “I know nothing about suits. Shep helped me choose the grey one.”

“No worries, I’m going to take you to the best shop in town.”

**Simon**

“Absolutely fucking not,” I say, staring at the super expensive clothes behind the shop window, “there are not even the prices on display.”

“So?” he asks, holding his black umbrella over both of us. His shoulder is getting wet, so I move a bit closer, our arms touching and making him stiffen and then relax as soon as my fingers brush against his leg, in what I want to be a soothing way.

“No prices on display means only one thing: it’s going to be super expensive.”

“I’ll pay,” he says nonchalantly, moving an inch closer.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” I say, outraged, turning my head to stare at him “you’re not using the company’s money to buy me clothes.”

“I was actually thinking of using my own,” he says, casting a glance in my direction, “you’re my employee and you need to be dressed properly for the job.”

“I’ll buy my own suit, thank you very much.”

I cross my arms and stare in front of me, feeling his eyes on me.

“I didn’t mean to offend you,” he says softly, and looks so sincere, “honestly.”

I relax and finally look at him and see the insecurity in his eyes. It makes me realise that he doesn’t really care that I’m broke, that he wasn’t trying to undermine me. He simply wanted to buy me clothes.

“Let’s just go somewhere else,” I suggest.

**Baz**

I draw the line at Primark; we end up at Next.

The shop assistant is completely useless, so I politely tell her to jog on and I choose a few suits for him to try and match them up with shirts and ties. Snow looks sheepish, going into the changing room with blushing cheeks and an embarrassed expression on his face.

“Are you okay in there?” I ask after a few minutes of hearing him fumbling and swearing under his breath, “or has the suit got the better of you?”

“Piss off! How the fuck do you even put cufflinks on?”

I open the curtains and he stares at me, his shirt open and his trousers unfastened.

“Sorry, I thought you were decent,” I mutter. He turns to sort out his trousers, but he forgets that there are mirrors everywhere, so I get to see him fumbling with his zip from the front and both sides (god, I love this changing room).

He finally manages to tuck his manhood away and I feel my mouth getting dry as he shows me his wrists and then hands me the cufflinks.

“This suit looks good on you,” I say, trying not to think about the fact that I’m touching him in such an intimate way. Somehow, helping him dress feels just as tender as undressing him.

He straightens his sleeves when I’m done with his cuffs and my fingers just go for his broad shoulders, sliding down their length and then down his arms.

“You look stunning,” I say, without thinking and then I feel his eyes on me, his cheeks and neck turning red, mouth open in surprise. My fingers curl around his left wrist, seeking his warmth, desperate to feel his heartbeat under my skin.

“I-I…have you just said something nice to me?” he says, confused, his right hand going for his curls.

**Simon**

Is this a date?

He lets go of me and steps out of the changing room, drawing the curtains.

“Why don’t you try the other one on?” he says, his voice strained.

And I’m left there standing, my arm still frozen in mid-air, desperate for his touch.

“Okay…” I mumble, confused.

I miss his hands on me already.

**Baz**

He ends up buying a navy suit and I pay for the other one, but he keeps on complaining and we eventually agree that he will pay for it with his first salary.

“You shouldn’t have bought it,” he says again, shaking his head.

“You need at least three suits for work,” I explain, carrying one of the bags for him. It’s pouring down and we stand closer under my umbrella, trying not to get drenched as we walk through town.

I suppose that’s the end of our date. I tried to drag it for as long as I could, but we got his clothes and now there’s no reason for us to continue hanging out together. I don’t even know where he lives and I’m about to ask him (the least I can do is walk him home, since he doesn’t even have an umbrella), when he grabs my arm and we both stop.

“I’m hungry,” he says, all of a sudden, “lunch?”

“I…yes, sure,” I reply, trying to hide the mixture of joy and relief that floods my veins.

“Ebb makes some lovely sandwiches and jacket potatoes,” he says, scratching his nose, probably thinking that I want to drag him to an expensive French restaurant instead.

“That sounds nice,” I say and he smiles. A genuine Simon Snow smile that makes me weak in the knees.

Bloody hell…

**Simon**

“Look at you, drenched like a couple of stray cats!” Ebb says when she sees us, “let me get you a towel.”

She disappears in the kitchen before we can ever ask for the lunch menus, so we take a seat at a table in the corner and wait for her to come back with some old towels that look like they’ve seen better days. They still smell fresh, like they’ve just been washed, and we dry our hair after taking our wet coats off.

“You had an umbrella earlier, what happened?” she asks.

“Snow happened,” Baz replies with a frown.

“It was windy and I was holding it and it just…broke,” I say, shrugging.

“I’ll lend you one of mine,” Ebb promises with a wink and I already know it’s going to have a goat on it and Baz will give me grief about it.

“I’ll pay for lunch,” I tell him, my hand resting on his arm for a minute longer than necessary, “and I’ll get you a new brolly.”

“You can pay for lunch, if you want. But I’m just expecting you to walk me home with the ridiculous umbrella your friend Ebb is going to give us.”

“Deal,” I say, with a smile. My heart feels light as my shoulder bumps against his and he scoffs, pretending to be annoyed, but with a pink tinge on his cheeks.

I get to walk him home.

Is this a date?

**Baz**

We walk under the rain and we chat about work and what we do in our spare time. We end up taking the long route along the canal, even if it takes absolute ages to get home, but I’m so chuffed that he just wants to talk to me, to spend some time together. He asks me about my childhood and then tells me about his. We talk about our favourite food and football and his friends.

When we finally get to my door, I want to ask him to come up, but I know Fiona’s at home and I will never hear the end of it.

“Well, this is me,” I say, standing in front of him, my hand still clutching the bag with his suit, while he holds the goat umbrella over our heads.

He scratches the back of his head and seems about to say something, when a car comes by, nearly splashing us when it hits a puddle.

“Fuck,” he says moving closer and ending up with his chest pressed against mine. He looks up and our lips are just a couple of inches apart. He swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down his neck (so fucking hot; I just want to bite him there). My hand moves up and rests on his chest, just under his collar bone.

I lean in and all I can think about is how desperate I am to kiss him.

“Baz, was this a date?” he asks, all of a sudden.

“I…”

I want to ask him: “Do you want it to be?”

Because I do. I desperately do.

**Simon**

His mouth opens and then closes and he averts his gaze.

Wait, was he about to kiss me?

“We bought you a suit,” he mutters, “and had some lunch.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” I point out and I move even closer, my breath warm on his flushed cheeks, my fingers sliding down the umbrella. Maybe I should drop it and risk getting drenched to touch his face. I suddenly feel the desperate need to press my lips against his, to find out if they are as soft as they look. I need to taste him and make him moan in my arms. I lick my lips and tilt my head up and his eyes are half-lidded as he draws closer.

The door suddenly opens behind him and Fiona Pitch appears in all her glory, with a fag between her red lips and a towel wrapper around her head.

“I thought it was you, what are you waiting for?” she asks Baz, who seems to be fuming and glares at her, “are you planning on getting soaked?”

“Get back inside, you old hag!” he tells her and she pulls her middle finger up at him.

“Just ask him to shag you already,” she mutters as she leaves.

**Baz**

Bloody cockblocker.

Snow turns a deep shade of crimson and starts making funny noises.

“I…err…uhm…I should probably go,” he manages to say, “I’ll see you at work on Monday. Or maybe tomorrow morning at the Stinky Goat. Or I’ll see you around. Who knows? Thanks for everything.”

He waves at me and practically runs away.

Fucking Fiona.

**Simon**

I was about to kiss him.

Oh my god.

I think I might be gay.

Or at least Baz-sexual.

Shit.

**Baz**

On Sunday morning he’s not there. I wait and I wait, but he doesn’t appear. And then on Monday we get hit by a colossal shitstorm at work, because our number one client is not happy with our newest proposal for a revolutionary coffee machine. They want us to redo the whole prototype and they only give us one week to complete it.

We’re all working around the clock, so I have no time to flirt with him or simply have a chat and ask him what Saturday meant. If it was a date or not. If he wanted to kiss me as much as I did. If it was all a product of my wild imagination.

I’m so stressed and overworked that I end up sleeping at the office, so I see him even less. I have a small room with a double bed and an en suite (for the times I need some privacy or for when I argue with Fiona). It’s hidden inside my office and only a few people know about it.

By Thursday I am tired and anxious, pissed off at everyone, because all I want to do is spend some time alone with him, but I can’t. I snap at Fiona, then at Niall and even at poor Mildred, who looks at me like a disappointed grandmother and I feel like a naughty toddler who’s just had a tantrum.

When is this fucking week going to end?

**Simon**

Baz is pissed off. Can’t really blame him, we don’t seem to make enough progress on this prototype and we risk losing the commission (which would mean losing a lot of money). His dad is away, so he’s responsible for everything and I try to leave him alone, since he looks super stressed. I do my best, because I want to help and to prove that I’m worthy of the position they’ve given me. I do extra hours, stay until late, work at home in the evenings.

On Friday morning I get to the office an hour earlier (he’s not at Ebb’s anyway), thinking that no one will be there and I will get a chance to catch up on some work. I’m still new and there’s so much I need to learn.

I’m on my way to the kitchenette to make myself a cup of tea, when I hear a noise coming from his office. Is Baz here?

I decide to check who’s there, since the door is wide open and then I see Niall coming out with a folder in his hand. He does that sometimes; he just gets stuff from Baz’s office without his permission and Baz gets annoyed and tells him off (but they’re best friends, so there’s no bite to it).

“Snow,” he says, giving me a glacial stare. I guess he still hasn’t forgiven me for making those comments about Dev’s behind.

I’m about to leave, when I hear another noise coming from the inside, so I walk in. The small door that I thought led to a private toilet is ajar and I take a peek, against my better judgement. It’s actually a bedroom, small and cosy, with just a bed, a small table and a wardrobe.

Baz has a secret bedroom hidden in his office. And he’s there in his posh pyjamas, brushing his teeth.

Wait, did he sleep with Niall?

“Snow!” he says, his toothbrush falling from his open mouth. He catches it just before it hits the floor.

“I-I…” I feel my face catching fire, “w-what…you…fuck!”

I feel angry and confused, suddenly so jealous that I want to grab him and kiss him senseless, because he doesn’t belong to Niall. And what about Dev? I probably feel bothered on his behalf too. What the fuck, Baz is having sex with his cousin’s boyfriend?!

“Wait,” he says, coming after me when I turn to leave, “what are you doing here so early?”

“I work here, in case you have forgotten!” I shout, turning, suddenly feeling so fucking furious that I might punch the wall.

“Wait, why are you so angry?” he asks, confused.

“None of your business, you can do whatever you want in your bat cave!”

“It’s called a man cave, you numpty,” he says, frowning.

“Shag your secretary or whoever you fancy in there, see if I care!”

“Snow,” he says, very slowly, his voice low “Mildred is 85 years old and I’m gay.”

I blush and growl, then I leave, slamming the door behind me.

**Baz**

I have no idea what happened this morning, but Snow seems to be still angry at me, for some unknown reasons.

He spends the morning shooting daggers at me and every time I try to talk to him, he finds something important to do and leaves.

By lunch time, I decide that I’m going to be open and mature and simply ask him what the fuck is wrong with him and if he’s bashed his head on the way to work. I buy an extra sandwich (his favourite) at the café on the ground floor and then find the courage to head to his desk, when suddenly the most ridiculously beautiful woman steps inside the office and calls his name.

“Simon?” most of the men turn and gape at her. She has long blonde hair, that she brushes behind her shoulder. If I weren’t gay, I would probably be drooling too. Instead, I feel rage boiling inside me as she approaches Snow’s desk and he smiles at her (he fucking smiles for the first time today).

“Aggie,” he says standing up, “what are you doing here?”

“You forgot your lunch,” she says, handing him his Doctor Who lunch bag, “Penny texted me.”

Is she his girlfriend? I feel a wave of nausea when she touches his arm, as the jealousy makes me want to set fire to the whole office.

“I didn’t know Snow had such a hot girlfriend,” says Rhys and I lose it. I just fucking lose it.

“Hey, you!” I yell at the young woman, “you’re not supposed to be here. This is a private company.”

She stares at me with her brown eyes open wide and blinks a few times.

“Sorry, the lady at reception let me through. She said it was fine.”

“Mildred, how many times do I need to tell you not to let strangers in!” I shout at her. She just shakes her head and looks disappointed at my manners. Bloody brilliant.

“Please leave,” I say and Snow’s brows furrow as he looks at me. Great, now I’ve upset him.

I storm out and decide to hide in my office for the rest of eternity. I have enough snacks to last until at least Sunday morning and I can just wallow in self-pity in peace and quiet. I even lock the door, because I don’t want Niall or Fiona to come in and find me crying.

**Simon**

What the hell is wrong with him?

I sigh as I go back to work after Agatha leaves. I work my way through the afternoon and I’m nearly done putting the finishing touches on the prototype, so I decide to stay for a little longer. Tomorrow is Saturday and I want to be done by tonight.

It’s nearly eight when I realise that everyone has left and I haven’t even had dinner. I walk to the kitchen and search the fridge for some leftovers that I hid in there yesterday (Dev eats anything he finds, so I’ve got to be smart about where I place my food).

I put my dinner in the microwave and I distractedly look outside of the window, when suddenly I hear the door open behind me and I jump.

“What the fuck!” I shout and Baz stares at me, his eyes wide open. He’s wearing his posh pyjamas again, a pair of brown slippers and his hair is all over the place. His eyes are red and puffy, as if he’d spent the afternoon crying.

“What are you still doing here?” he asks, surprised.

“I work here,” I remind him (sometimes I feel like I need to remind myself too), “what are you doing here in your PJs?”

“This is my company!” he says and he seems to remember that he hates me as he stomps through the kitchen and starts opening the cupboards and taking random stuff out. A jar of marmite. Some Weetabix. A mug. Some custard creams that must have expired at least last year (I wonder how Dev missed them). An old moka pot.

“What are you doing with that one?” I ask.

“Why, making myself an espresso,” he replies icily.

“Don’t be ridiculous! You have the latest coffee machine on the market and you want to use that old artifact? Do you even know how it works?”

That seems to rile him up even more and he starts opening it, muttering insults under his breath, and then pouring some ground coffee in the little cylinder on the inside. He presses it with all of his strengths and I start worrying.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to put so much,” I warn him, because I vaguely remember one of the nuns at the homes showing me how to prepare coffee with an old moka pot exactly like this one.

“Mind your own business, Snow. I know what I’m doing.”

He clearly doesn’t, because he barely puts any water inside and even gets rid of the green seal before placing it on the hob.

“Fuck, Baz, what have you done?” I tell him, trying to take the bloody pot before it goes off like a bomb, “that thing is going to explode.”

He stops me and grabs my wrist.

“Snow, stop being a wanker and let me make coffee.”

“Get that thing off the hob, before it’s too late, you stubborn twat!”

“Make me,” he says, raising his eyebrow.

This is going to end in fire.

**Baz**

The moka pot starts making an eerie hissing sound and Snow whines, looking extremely worried. Maybe he’s right and I’ve fucked up, but it’s too late to admit that I was wrong and I’m holding his wrist so tight that I’m afraid of hurting him.

“Fuck,” he says when the old coffee machine starts smoking and he dives, grabbing me by the shoulders and taking us both down, falling on top of me. I hit the back of my head on the floor and feel all the oxygen leave my body as he lands on top of my chest. I’m about to shout at him, when the moka pot suddenly explodes with a loud bang, staining the walls and the counter with dark coffee.

“Shit,” Snow mutters, just inches away from my face and I suddenly feel like crying. Because I’m a pathetic excuse for a man, irretrievably in love with the most beautiful person in the world, who seems to be straight and in a relationship with a blonde model. And it appears that I can’t even make bloody coffee.

“Hey,” he says looking down at me, his expression softening “are you okay?”

I nod and feel the tears running down my cheeks. Splendid.

“Baz, there’s no need to cry. I’m sure I can fix your moka pot,” he says soothingly and he moves a bit, so that his weight is not resting on my chest.

“I don’t give a monkey’s arse about that infernal device,” I say and he smiles at me, “that’s not why I’m crying.”

“Why are you crying, then?” he asks, still on top of me, his chest pressed against mine, his fingers moving and gently stroking my hair.

“Because I’m a mess,” I reply, trying to avert my gaze, but failing miserably. His eyes are like magnets and I can’t stop staring at their deep blue.

“Who isn’t?” he asks, “I’m more of a mess than you are. You honestly look bloody perfect to me.”

“Well, I’m not. I’m angry, bitter and jealous,” I declare.

Wait, did he just say that I’m perfect?

“Who could you possibly be jealous of?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Your girlfriend,” I blurt out, regretting it immediately.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he says, looking confused, “wait, do you mean Agatha? She’s my ex.”

My eyes open wide and I suddenly remember Ebb telling me that he had recently broken up with his girlfriend. Oh…

“Is that why you were grumpy all afternoon?” he asks, a smile creeping up his lips and I feel my cheeks heating up.

“Look who’s talking. You’ve been mad at me all morning!” I accuse him.

“Well, I found Niall sneaking out of your office this morning and you were barely dressed,” he admits, a dark look on his face.

“He was just grabbing a file. I’ve been sleeping here because I needed to catch up on work. But I was on my own.”

“Oh…okay…”

We stare at each other. And I think we both realise at the same time that we’re idiots and we’ve both been jealous and stupid for no reason.

His cheeks turn a lovely shade of red as he brushes his nose against mine and licks his lips.

“So, does that mean that you don’t fancy Niall?” he asks, sheepishly.

“He’s my cousin’s boyfriend and my best friend. So I definitely don’t fancy him. Besides, there’s someone else that has been occupying all my thoughts lately.”

“Hmmm,” he replies, a smile on his lips.

“Someone with freckles and moles, bronze curls and an aversion to umbrellas.”

“You don’t say,” he mutters, a smile lighting up his face.

“Simon?”

“Yes, Baz.”

“Saturday was a date.”

I’m about to ask him if he’s planning on kissing me or what, when his lips crash against mine without warning, knocking all the air out of me in the most delicious way. I feel his tongue pressing against my lips and I open them, allowing him to taste me, to explore my mouth and to make me lose control. My hands finally move and they slide along his back, bringing him closer, making him gasp and then moan in my mouth as I lift his t-shirt and come in contact with his skin. God, he’s so warm and soft.

“I think we should move this to your bat cave,” he says, licking my top lip and making me whimper.

“Man cave,” I reply out of breath, because I always need to have the last word.

“Whatever, as long as you keep on kissing me,” he replies and I think this time I’m happy for him to be the last one to speak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut in the next chapter!


	4. Simon Snow and the carnivorous plant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut! Also, a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really can’t thank enough my amazing betas [ Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire/pseuds/Sharing_a_room_with_an_open_fire) and [ commeunoasis ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/commeunoasis/pseuds/commeunoasis) 💙

**Simon**

“Shall we clean up the mess you’ve made?” I ask.

“Later,” he murmurs against my lips.

“Wait, I forgot my dinner in the microwave.”

“Way to be romantic, Snow,” he mutters, getting up and brushing his trousers, “I thought you wanted me to kiss you senseless in my man cave.”

His stomach starts rumbling loudly and he looks at me with a sheepish expression. I grab two forks and the food from the microwave.

“Come on, I’ve got enough for two,” I take his hand and walk him to his office, holding the warm lunch box with my other hand. We sit on the bed and he peeks at it. 

“It smells nice. What is it?”

“Beef stew,” I reply, “Ebb gave it to me at lunchtime yesterday and I forgot to take it home for dinner.”

“If you get my bed dirty, I will make you scrub it clean,” he says, but I know it’s an empty threat. He moves closer and then he takes a fork and starts eating it directly from the lunch box that’s sitting in my lap, humming his appreciation.

“Ebb must like you a lot to cook for you,” he says after a while, “I don’t remember seeing this on her menu.”

“She’s like a mum to me,” I reply with a smile, “she kind of took me in when I was completely broke and she made sure my stomach was never empty.”

He stares at me and nods, then he continues eating in silence.

“I’m glad she did,” he says after a while, “I wish I had met you sooner. It feels like we’ve known each other for ages though.”

I move my leg so that it rests against his, I kick my shoes off and let my foot slide over his. He’s wearing a pair of expensive looking blue socks and he blushes a bit at the contact.

“Hey, can I ask you a question?” I ask.

“You may.”

“Did you give me this job because you wanted to shag me?” my bluntness makes him falter and he nearly chokes on a mouthful of stew.

“What?! No, you plonker!” he exclaims, outraged, “what’s with you and your assumptions? First, I get Bunce asking me if I hired you because of your upbringing and now this. I gave you this job because you’re good and you were the best candidate in that infernal interview.”

“Really?” I ask, because I want him to say it again.

“Yes, really!” He shakes his head and lets me have the last bit of meat. Then he drinks some water from a glass that he takes from his bedside table. “And I don’t simply want to shag you. I…”

“You?” I whisper.

“Snow,” he starts, but I put my finger on his lips and shake my head.

“You called me Simon before,” I say, “I liked it.”

I move my finger and he stares at me, his eyes hungry, moving from my eyes to my lips. I get up to put the lunch box on his desk and I can feel his gaze on me. When I get back to his bed, I straddle his hips and gently push him onto it, so that he’s lying there underneath me, his wavy dark hair spread out prettily around his face.

“Time for dessert,” I say, licking my lips. 

His hand reaches up for my cheek and then he threads his fingers through my hair, his grey eyes focusing on my lips as I smile and tentatively kiss him. It starts off soft and chaste, our lips barely touching, but then his hand slides down, holding the back of my neck to deepen the kiss. He lets out a muffled moan when I open my mouth and his tongue sneaks inside, tasting me, licking me, making me close my eyes to enjoy the blissful experience that is kissing Baz Pitch.

I don’t think he’s done this before. He’s so incredibly good at everything and I assumed he was going to be an excellent kisser, but he is clumsy in an adorable way and I take advantage of his inexperience to take control, to lie on top of him, kissing him until he’s hard against me and he’s making delicious little sounds that set my blood on fire.

“God, you taste amazing,” he mutters when we break for air and I chuckle, pecking him on the nose.

I grind my hips into his and he gasps. He’s hard; the light fabric of his pyjamas is tented and feels a bit damp when I brush my hand against it.

“Fuck, Simon…” he whimpers, his hands trembling in my hair, his eyes meeting with mine.

“Do you want…?” I ask, unsure of what he wants to do (although I seem to have a list of things that _I_ want to do to him in my head).

“You’re wearing those infernal jeans,” he says.

“It’s Friday,” I reply, kissing my way down his jaw, gently nipping his neck.

“Take them off. They’re too rough,” he says, out of breath, and then his hands reach for my trousers. His fingers shake as they undo the top button and then pull the zip down.

“You too,” I mutter and he lifts his hips, helping me pull his pyjama bottoms down. We stare at each other’s bodies and his eyes meet mine again.

“Still too many clothes,” he complains and I take my hoodie and t-shirt off in one swift move, as he starts unbuttoning his pyjama top. I stand up to take my underwear and socks off and his eyes won’t leave my body, hungrily taking it all in, as if he were committing all of my moles and freckles to memory.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispers and I just stand in front of him, my cock hard between my legs, already leaking, “please let me touch you.”

I nod and I wonder why on earth he’s still wearing his boxer-briefs, but then he’s sitting up and his fingers are reaching for me, sliding down my chest, gently circling my nipples and making me gasp. He traces the shape of my hips and then pulls me closer, one hand moving to my arse, squeezing a cheek possessively and letting out a groan, while the other wraps around my cock.

“Fuck, Baz…” he pulls my foreskin over the head and then down, circling my slit with his thumb, then stroking me languidly and way too slowly for my liking.

“You’re such a tease,” I mutter, biting my lips and he picks up the pace, making me pant and close my eyes, to enjoy this glorious feeling fully.

“Look at you,” he whispers, “I want to feel all of you against me.”

“Yes,” I mumble, “take your clothes off. I want to feel you naked.”

I open my eyes when his hand leaves me and he grabs the elastic band of his underwear to unceremoniously pull it down. And he’s so gorgeous down there too, his dick pink and hard, leaking at the top. I suddenly realise that I want to taste him there too, suck him with my mouth until he spills his come down my throat. I groan at the thought and then I move, straddling him again, moving down until our bodies are pressed flush, warm and solid against each other. He gasps at the contact, at the incredible feeling of his skin on mine.

“This is…” I whisper, “it’s the first time for me.”

“Me too,” he confesses, and then he murmurs, “you’re so warm, so hot. I want to kiss you again.”

I don’t move, I just look at him with a soft smile and let him reach for my mouth and he does, desperately searching for my lips, moaning as they lock with mine, his hands cupping my face so tenderly.

My hand moves down his body and sneaks in between our bellies, grabbing both of our cocks together and squeezing.

“Fuck, Simon,” he whimpers, “oh my god…”

“Do you have any lube?” I ask.

“In the drawer.”

I grin and open the small drawer of his bedside table, trying to imagine Baz wanking here, his fist wrapped around his long cock, his fingers between his legs, sliding in.

“You’re going to show me,” I mutter, as I pour some lube on my hand and then start stroking our cocks together, making him groan at the contact, “I want to see you touching yourself.”

“What?” he asks, all coherence lost as he pants and moans while his cock slides against mine in the most delicious way.

“I want to see you wank for me,” I whisper, “I want to know what you think about when you do it.”

“Fuck! You,” he whispers, “I think about you fucking me.”

I groan and I feel so close, but I want to see him come first; I need to see him fall apart in my arms, melt under my touch.

“I want to fuck you so badly,” I whisper in his ear, sucking on the sensitive skin of his neck, “I’m going to get you nice and ready for me and then I’m going to fuck you, deep and hard.”

He lets out a moan and then I know that he’s about to come, so I move my hand faster, until he’s arching his back and closing his eyes, his eyebrows creasing in pleasure as he comes in thick white spurts all over my hand and my cock.

“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper and then his hand is on me, using his own come to stroke me faster. The indecent noise makes me think of fucking him, of filling him and making him fall apart in my arms and I come with a loud moan, calling out his name and holding him tight. 

**Baz**

I wake up and find him asleep next to me, a warm bundle of limbs all wrapped around mine. I stare at him for a while, feeling like a besotted idiot (and partly like a maniac), until my bladder decides that it’s had enough of my love for him and I gently move out of his embrace to go to the loo. I put my underwear back on, because I feel a bit ridiculous walking around the office naked (even though it’s a Saturday morning and no one is going to be here).

When I come back, I find him sitting up in bed, his curls shooting out at every possible angle and a soft smile on his face.

“Morning,” I mutter, uncertain about the code of conduct for sleeping with someone for the first time and finding them looking so fucking handsome in your bed.

“C’mere,” he says, his hand reaching for mine and dragging me back to bed, into his arms. His hand slides inside my underwear and grabs my arse, giving it an unceremonious squeeze.

“Hey, don’t think you can take certain liberties just because we’ve kissed and wanked,” I say haughtily, pretending to be offended. He laughs and slaps my arse softy.

“You’ve slept in my arms,” he says.

“Fitfully,” I reply.

“Baz, you were like a koala. I woke up halfway through the night and you were wrapped around me so tight that I couldn’t move,” I blush and he strokes my cheek lovingly, “not that I’m complaining. It felt really lovely.”

“You’re like a hot water bottle,” I reply, “so warm and cosy. Sleeping with you is going to be like a dream come true during the winter months.”

I suddenly feel really stupid for assuming that he’s going to sleep with me again, but he smiles and brings our lips together and I let him kiss me, morning breath and all, until we are both panting and his cock starts thickening again, sliding against my underwear, as we lie side to side.

“As long as you don’t kick me out of bed when summer comes,” he mumbles, peppering my neck with kisses, “I’m happy to be your personal blanket.”

“Deal,” I reply, already out of breath.

“Hmm,” he hums, licking his lips, “you’re overdressed. Again.”

His stomach starts rumbling loudly and I laugh.

“I think you need some breakfast,” I say, kissing his lips and letting my fingers roam down, curling around his length and stroking him slowly, driving him insane as he groans against my mouth.

“You’re sending me mixed signals,” he mutters, his hands grabbing my arse and kneading it, “but I might have you for breakfast.”

“I don’t think I’m edible,” I reply, pulling his foreskin down and then up, tightening my grip over the head of his cock and pulling it a couple of times before sliding back down. He gasps softly and his hands tug at my underwear, taking it off.

“I think I can prove you wrong,” he mutters, his voice thick. And then he moves and he’s suddenly on top of me, trailing kisses down my chest, sucking on my nipples and making me moan, my hips moving against his. He kisses my belly and I stifle a giggle, feeling silly because I’m ticklish. But before I can say anything, his lips are on my hard cock, kissing it gently, starting from the root and going up, his tongue darting out to lick the precome that has gathered on the slit.

“Fuck, Simon!” I swear, my fingers sliding through his hair, stroking the thick curls as he starts licking me.

“You taste amazing,” he mutters, sucking on the head and then letting my whole length slide into his mouth, slowly, before coming back up and doing it again. I never thought it would feel so good. I imagined it would feel great, but nothing had prepared me for the sublime feeling of having Simon Snow’s hot mouth around my cock, bobbing up and down.

He actually looks like he’s enjoying himself, groaning and tugging at his dick, sucking me as if his life depended on it. He looks so stunning, his curls bouncing on his head as he moves, his fingers tracing lazy patters on the inside of my thighs, then cupping my balls gently. I shudder as I feel my incoming orgasm, like a wave that gets closer and closer, inevitable and so delicious, like sparks on my skin.

“Simon, I’m going…” I try to warn him, but he hollows his cheeks and sucks on my dick with a moan and his eyes meet mine. I feel it like a current, starting from the pit of my stomach and sending shock waves through me, as I close my eyes and come, harder than I ever have, down his throat. He takes it all, groaning as he keeps on stroking himself, the wet sounds making me pulse into his mouth for what feels like endless perfect minutes.

“Simon…” I moan softly and then he moves up and starts stroking his cock over me. My fingers reach for it, hungry for him and he lets me take it. I stroke him for just a handful of seconds and then he comes all over me, white spurts painting my belly with his warm come as he pants and gasps.

**Simon**

He looks utterly debauched. So messy and beautiful, his hair all dishevelled and his cheeks pink, his lips red from all the kissing we’ve done. I stare at him, at his spent cock that was in my mouth until a few minutes ago, at my come on his belly and I feel like I could go again.

“Shit,” I whisper, “you look so beautiful with my come on you.”

His cheeks flush, eyes open wide, and my cock twitches at the thought of coming all over him again, of marking him as mine.

“You absolute nightmare,” he mutters, his fingers curling around my neck to drag me down for a kiss. 

**Baz**

“I want to take you on a date,” he announces, his hand ruffling his curls and then diving into his underwear to scratch his arse. He looks so lovely and messy and I want to drag him to bed again.

He’s going to be the death of me.

“What did you have in mind?” I ask, keeping my hands busy with the coffee machine, making myself an espresso while we wait for his tea to be ready. I rummage through the cupboards, looking for something edible that might have survived hurricane Dev.

“I want to take you on a proper date,” he simply says and I look at him again. He’s blushing and tugging at his curls, “I used to be a terrible boyfriend when I was with Agatha; that’s why she broke up with me. But I want to do things right this time. I don’t want you to get fed up with me.”

“Simon…” I whisper, abandoning the cupboards and moving closer to him, interlacing my fingers with his and placing a kiss on his cheek, “I’ll never get fed up with you. And I don’t need fancy dates. I just need you.”

I kiss him, slowly and tenderly, letting all my love for him seep into this small gesture, hoping that he understands what I’m still not ready to put into words. His arms wrap around my back and he draws me closer.

“Still want to take you on a date,” he murmurs when we eventually part (his tea is probably going to taste like petrol).

“Okay, let’s go on a date then.”

**Simon**

We have breakfast and then I manage to convince him to let me go home (I think he was planning to keep me captive in his bat cave). We’ve been together since yesterday evening and it has been absolutely amazing. I didn’t want to part either, but I need to show him that I’m serious about him and it’s not just sex that I’m after.

I need to pull all the stops.

I can do this.

**Baz**

The doorbell rings and Fiona raises an eyebrow at me from the sofa.

“Your beau is here, princess Baz,” she smirks, forever taking the piss.

I ignore her and check my reflection in the mirror for the hundredth time, on my way to the door. I hope he likes my snug jeans and dark green shirt with a leaf pattern. There are hummingbirds hidden in the leaves and my step-mother Daphne always says that it brings out my eyes.

I open the door and gape at him. He’s wearing the dark blue suit that I chose for him, matched with the red tie I suggested and even the cufflinks that I helped him pick. He looks absolutely breath-taking.

“Simon, you look so beautiful,” I whisper, trying to ignore Fiona whistling in the background.

Snow blushes and hands me a colourful bag.

“This is for you,” he says sheepishly. I recognise the logo immediately; it’s from the flower shop in town and I take it from his trembling fingers, peeking inside.

There’s a small pot plant. I take it out and stare at it.

“Snow,” I start, unsure how to continue.

“Simon,” he corrects me.

“Simon, you got me a Venus fly trap,” I say, confused.

“I don’t know what it’s called, but it figures that you do. You’re such a swot,” he says affectionately, “It looks cool, doesn’t it? I wanted to get you some flowers, but they were going to wither in a couple of days and instead you get to keep this!”

“You got me a carnivorous plant for our first date,” I say, speechless.

“Second date,” he corrects me and I can hear Fiona snickering from the kitchen. “Is the plant a problem?”

“No!” I reply smiling at him, because he suddenly looks insecure and peeks at the kitchen with a worried look on his face. “It’s really lovely, thank you. Don’t mind Fiona; she’s an idiot.”

I put the plant on the window sill and then flip my auntie two fingers before I grab my coat and open the door.

“Let’s go,” I tell him, grabbing his hand.

**Simon**

As soon as he closes the door behind him, I push him against it and kiss him senseless. He lets out a sigh and lets me explore his mouth, our chests flush, my hands sliding under his coat and roaming on his back.

“I missed you,” I whisper against his lips.

“It’s only been two hours,” he scoffs, but I can see a faint blush on his cheeks, so I press closer and tug a lock of dark hair behind his ear.

“Did you miss me?” I ask and he rolls his eyes, but I want him to tell me the truth, so I press our foreheads together and stroke his cheek gently.

“Of course, I missed you, you numpty,” he mutters and I feel a grin appear on my face. “So where are you taking me for this second date?”

“Well,” I say, biting my lips and stepping back, “I tried calling the best restaurants in town to reserve a table, but they were all full. I considered a picnic at the park, but Penny said it’s going to rain soon and I still don’t have an umbrella. So, I thought we could go somewhere close by instead.”

**Baz**

Of course, we end up at the Stinky Goat.

But I don’t mind. I actually like it, the familiar feeling, the relaxed atmosphere and the little table in the corner that has become _our_ table. Ebb has even put candles on it for us and there’s a picture of a goat surrounded by hearts in a frame that has probably been made by a child (it has dry pasta all around the edges).

It’s weird, it might be a bit tacky, but it’s perfect for us.

I smile at him, take his hand and kiss it.

“What shall we get?” I ask.

~ ΅ ~ ΅ ~ ΅ ~ ΅ ~ ΅ ~ ΅~ ΅

**Baz**

The door to my office opens with a bang and I nearly jump. Niall appears and stares at me, looking surprised to see me here.

“Niall, what the fuck! How many times do I need to tell you not to barge in?”

“Sorry, Baz,” he says, “I thought you were on your pre-Christmas dinner date with Snow. I had actually gone home, but I came back because I forgot to leave this file on your desk before Dev and I go on holiday.”

He’s about to approach me, when I point at the filing cabinet.

“Just leave it there, I will get it sorted later,” I tell him with a scowl.

“Have a nice Christmas break,” he says, waving at me, “and don’t work all night.”

“Lock the door on your way out!” I shout after him and then I wait for the distinctive noise of the key in the lock before I take a deep sigh.

“What the fuck,” comes Snow’s muffled voice from under my desk.

“I’m sorry, I forgot he had the keys.” I apologise and then I look between my legs and I see his lips closing around my hard dick, sucking at the tip and then swiping his tongue over it.

“Shit, Simon…” I groan, “maybe we should move this to the bedroom.”

“Hmmm,” he hums (because he always speaks with his mouth full) and he starts sucking me for good, his right hand stroking the root of my cock as his left disappears behind him. He’s completely naked and looks like the best Christmas treat I’ve ever laid eyes on.

“Are you getting ready for me, love?” I ask, my voice thick as I’m desperately trying not to come. He’s had me close to the edge for nearly half an hour and I’m just about to start begging. He hums again, his blue eyes locking with mine. “How many fingers have you got inside, love?”

His mouth leaves my cock with a wet sound as he whispers, “three. That enough for you?”

“Come here,” I grab his arms and pull him up, “I want to fuck you. Right now.”

He chuckles as he climbs on my lap, kissing me as soon as his mouth reaches mine. I can taste myself on him and he moans into my mouth as my hand starts stroking his cock, so hard and stiff.

“Want you,” he whispers and then he moves, positioning himself over my dick and slowly lowering himself with a shaky breath, until I’m fully seated inside him and I can’t help but moan out loud, because he feels so hot and tight, “you feel so good.”

“I’m not going to last long,” I warn him, as he starts rocking his hips gently. He’s so slick that my cock slides in and out easily, making an indecent sound that sends a pleasant shiver down my spine.

“Fuck me for good, then,” he whispers and then he starts moving, his arse bouncing on my cock as I hold him tight and match his movements with my hips, my thighs slapping around his arse.

“I want you to come first,” I groan, “come for me, love.”

He moans as my hand slides up and down his length and I fuck him hard and deep, until he’s spilling in my hand and I can finally let myself tip over the edge too, coming inside him after only a couple of deep thrusts.

“Fuck, Simon…” I moan, and then I rest my forehead on his shoulder, letting the intense aftershock of my orgasm fade away, little waves of pleasure coming and going and making me whimper in his arms.

“I’ve been thinking lately,” he says, out of breath.

“Hmmm,” I mumble, still unable to speak.

“You know when I had my interview and you asked me about what I would tell the CEO’s son if I had three minutes alone in a lift with him?” he asks, his fingers gently tracing my shoulders and my neck, making me shudder.

“I don’t think three minutes would be enough for this,” I reply, my cock still inside him, threatening to get hard again.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” he chuckles, moving so that he can face me.

He kisses my lips, so softly and tenderly that I feel warmth spreading in my chest.

“I figured out what I would tell you,” he whispers.

“Yes?” I ask, gently cupping his face.

“Baz,” he starts, a smile on his perfect lips, “I love you.”

I let out a breath that I didn’t even realise I was holding.

“I love you too, Simon,” I say and he grins back at me.

“But you’re still a posh twat and your jeans should be illegal,” he adds, because he’s an absolute nightmare.

But I love him.


End file.
